


Fireside Chat

by TaergaLive



Series: Baldur's Gate 3 one-shots [2]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:55:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28165863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaergaLive/pseuds/TaergaLive
Summary: [Oops I did it again.]"'So,' finally, the silence is broken by Astarion as he stares into his bottle. 'Do you have loves waiting for you once this is all over?'"The party unwinds for the night, and the conversation turns personal. One of these days, Glynren might just kill Astarion, but the vampire is just having a bit of fun with the shyest member of the group.
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Baldur's Gate 3 one-shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061618
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	Fireside Chat

**Author's Note:**

> I'm slowly getting a feel for all the characters, but I still don't know Wyll well enough. I think he gets like one line. Poor dude. One day, Wyll, one day. 
> 
> God bless everyone who posts their playthroughs on youtube.

“What an absolute waste.”

As the sun dips beyond the horizon, the party find themselves sitting around their campfire, waiting for their food to cook, sipping drinks, and looking miserable. Well, most of them looked miserable. Astarion appeared to be in high spirits, licking the blood from his dagger. They had started the day with the intention of killing the goblin leader. They never made it to the lair, and instead found themselves stumbling upon a band of bandits hiding in a temple.

“I wouldn’t call it an absolute waste,” Astarion hummed. “We got to slaughter a few bandits.” He looks to Glynren and smirks as he licks the last of the blood away. The high elf scowls at the vampire before turning away.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed yourself,” he spat. “Though I thought after you gorged yourself on my sister, you wouldn’t have been so eager to sink your teeth into more people.”

The younger half-elf’s face reddens. She was able to stay in the background most of the day, but now she was being thrust back into center stage. She tries to keep her eyes on the page she was reading.

Astarion glances at Sephrin before smirking and returning his gaze to Glynren. “I was doing us all a favor, protecting the herd, so to speak.”

“The herd?” Glynren scoffed. “Of course that’s what you’d call us. To you, we’re nothing more than cattle, right?”

Before the vampire could retort, Gale handed him a bottle. “Stop the bickering, both of you. It’s been a long day, and honestly, I don’t want to hear it. We had enough of this conversation this morning.”

Glynren grits his teeth as Astarion holds his bottle up as if toasting the other elf. He looks victorious as he brings the bottle to his lips. For a moment that is. He quickly spits out the liquid.

“You could have told me it was gin. Tastes like a tree.” Despite the complaint, he takes another sip.

Gale shrugs. “Only drinks I could find were gin and ale. And trust me, the ale is no better.” He takes a swig of his own bottle as if to make a point.

“All the more reason we had to kill those vagrants,” Astarion says with a flash of his brows.

The group lapses into silence. This was usually how their conversations went. While they had been traveling together for a few days, they were still strangers, wary of each other. During these moments, they all tended to withdraw, ponder their own problems, their worries, their fears. They had one fear in common: the tadpoles. Would tonight be their last night of freedom? When they close their eyes, would that be the end of their stories?

That was part of the reason Sephrin read at night, to distract herself from her thoughts. It was getting harder and harder each night.

“What are you reading, anyway?” Gale asks as Sephrin turns the page. She stops midturn, her blood running cold.

“Nothing,” she murmurs, letting the page go. Could the ground swallow her up? Or perhaps the worm could just take over her mind now and put her out of her misery.

Suddenly, the book was plucked from her hands. Her head snaps up, absolute terror on her face as Astarion begins scanning the pages. “G-Give that back!” she squawks, the loudest she’s raised her voice around the group, scrambling to retrieve the book. Astarion keeps her at bay with his arm.

“Pity,” he playfully pouts, glancing up at her. “It’s just a historical treatise. And here I was hoping for something more _scandalous_.” With a flourish, he holds the book out for her. She all but rips it from his hands, clutching it to her chest.

Another silence lapses over them, a shadow of awkwardness lingering over them. While Sephrin stares at the dirt, Glynren clears his throat. “It’s the last piece our father worked on before he passed. He was tutoring Sephrin personally.”

“Your father?” Shadowheart inquires, cocking a brow. “As in...the father you two...share?” She was digging, of course. With Glynren being a full high elf and Sephrin only half, it was obvious the two were only half-siblings at most.

It doesn’t phase Glynren in the slightest. “Yes. Sephrin’s mother died when she was very young, and our father brought her to live with us.”

“How unusual,” Astarion muses. “For a half-elf to live with her elven family.”

“If our father knew about her sooner, he would have taken them both into the family,” he explains, almost forgetting his animosity toward Astarion. “My oldest sister was the only one who complained.” There’s a twinge of guilt in his voice toward the end.

Astarion cocks his brow. “Oldest sister? Meaning there’s more than one?”

Glynren takes a sip of his ale. “I was the youngest of three. Until Sephrin, of course. Zaleria and Siora are the other two. Much older than us. Well into their third century or so.”

“My, four elven children and a half-elf,” Astarion clicked his tongue. “Your father was quite busy.”

The comment puts color to Sephrin’s cheeks, but Glynren doesn’t bat an eye. He’s heard it all before, though he narrows his eyes at the other elf. “Yes. Now, apologize to my sister.”

Astarion’s brows shoot up. “Whatever for?”

“Well, for last night for one, but for taking her book.”

Sephrin glances up as the vampire spawn scoffs. He rolls his eyes, but he looks to Sephrin and offers a sardonic smile. “Apologies,” he says with a little shrug. She gives a little nod before retreating back to the ground.

“Lae’zel, the fish are on fire,” Wyll points out.

“They’re cooking,” she grunts. The others groan as they try to salvage the fish from the flames. Lae’zel leaves her where it is.

Another silence takes over as they start to eat. Previously, Astarion would eat a bit of food to keep up the fallacy, but now that his secret was out, he didn’t bother with the charade. He instead nurses his bottle, eyes flickering from person to person. As Glynren rips the flesh right off the skewer with his teeth, Sephrin picks pieces off hers delicately, sometimes holding it between her fingers for a while. The silence carries on even after they finish their meals. There was no need to plan; they were just going to try what they had meant to do today. For once, Sephrin wishes they would start talking again. Hands clasped on her lap, she awkwardly waits for someone to move, for someone to say something. She wants to get up, but with how quiet things are, standing up would bring attention to her.

“So,” finally, the silence is broken by Astarion as he stares into his bottle. “Do you have loves waiting for you once this is all over?”

It isn’t quite the distraction she’s hoping for, but Sephrin is glad a conversation is at least starting. She braves looking up just a tad to see the others around the fire. Shadowheart furrows her brows and scrunches her nose as if she smelled something foul. “You mean just... _waiting_? Like a love-sick puppy?”

Astarion flashes his brows and shrugs with a smirk. “I take that as a no then?”

She scoffs, bringing a bottle to her lips. “Short term amusements are much less hassle.”

“I wonder if your amusements feel the same way,” Glynren muses, studying the cleric.

Shadowheart merely shrugs. “I don’t really care what they feel.”

Shifting to her knees, Sephrin practically vibrates, her nerves on fire. It still isn’t a good moment to move away from the group. She needs them to get into a debate or for someone to start telling a story, something that will really grab their attention and keep it away from her. Perhaps, though, she is making a bigger deal out of the situation than she ought to. So what if they glance her way when she stands? Is that really so horrible that she condemns herself to stay still?

Gale tosses an empty bottle into the fire. “You know what? That’s not the easiest question for me to answer.”

A surge of hope runs through Sephrin. Yes! Given what she’s learned of Gale the last few days, the wizard will go on to explain in great detail. Just what she needed.

“Oh?” Astarion purrs. “And why is that?”

Pulling out another bottle, Gale takes his time answering, opening it and taking a swig. “Mostly because I don’t want to.”

A pox on you and yours, Gale! Sephrin closes her eyes for a moment, internally cursing. For once when she wants the man to yammer on, he bottles up.

“The Blade of the Frontiers does not have time for romance...sadly,” Wyll answers the question. Sephrin notes that means no story from him either. He then turns to Lae’zel, who is finally eating her burnt fish. “What about you? Do you have a love waiting for you?”

The Githyanki leers at him, her expression unchanging. “I hardly believe in love at all.”

A beat. “Oh.”

The edges of her lips twitch as she turns her attention back to her meal. “But I do believe in carnal pleasure.”

_**NOPE**_. Any fear she had of being noticed fly out the window. Face redder than the fire, Sephrin springs up from her bedroll, pivoting on her heels and making a beeline for the forest beyond.

“Don’t go, darling,” She hears Astarion call out jovially. “It’s your turn!”

Sephrin stumbles over a fallen log, but she doesn’t slow down. Nope, nope, nope, she’s not joining this depraved conversation. She will not be baited into embarrassing herself.

Glynren scowls at Astarion. “Leave her be.”

Astarion pouts. “But it’s only fair. To only observe and not participate...it’s very rude.” His frown slyly turns to a smirk.

“Well, what of you?” Glynren retorts. “You haven’t answered your own question.”

“Me?” Astarion feigns shock, even placing a hand on his chest.

Shadowheart hums, tilting her head. “Yes, do you have someone waiting for you in Baldur’s Gate? A sweetheart, perhaps?”

The vampire’s smirk grows. “No sweethearts, no. I prefer them _savory_.”

The cleric purses her lips and nods to herself. “This is why I don’t like conversing with you people.”

By this point, Sephrin was still within earshot of the camp but out of sight. Was this far enough? If she went too far, she wouldn’t find her way back. Not wanting to spend too much time alone in the woods, she flings as far as she could what she had been holding. Bits of meat scatter on the ground. She wipes her hands on her skirt, trying to rid herself of the fishy smell as her stomach growls. Hopefully, a somewhat docile animal will come to eat it rather than a bear. She starts returning to camp, but she takes her time, debating how she can reenter without making a scene.

“Your turn then, Glyn,” Gale gestures to the elf with his bottle. “Since we’re all apparently taking turns.”

“Yes,” Astarion adds. “The way you’re always protecting your sister, I would think you the...romantic type. Someone’s knight in shining armor, so to speak.”

“Then you will be disappointed,” Glynren smiles, almost as if he’s proud to disappoint him. “No, there is no one. Not that there has never been, but we had parted ways as friends quite some time ago.”

Astarion snorts. “Meaning you were dumped.”

“Sure,” Glynren rolls his eyes, apparently not wanting to fight again. “If that’s how you want to see it. Now, don’t ask Seph…”

He trails off as Sephrin slinks back into the camp. Her worst fear comes true as all eyes land on her. She freezes as if that would shroud her in the shadows. Even standing a ways away from the fire, she can see Astarion’s mouth twitch and open as if to speak. Quickly, she spits out, “No.”

Astarion pauses, cocking a brow. “No?”

“N-No one,” she clarifies, her eyes darting every which way.

This makes Astarion smirk. “Little liar.”

“I, I’m n-not…” she bites onto her bottom lip before making her way to her rucksack, rummaging through it as if she were looking for something rather than trying to hide.

“If you _weren’t_ lying,” he continues, ignoring the glares from the older brother. “You wouldn’t be so jumpy. Come now, dear, we’re all _friends_ here after all.” He puts so much emphasis on “friends” that he almost laughs.

“Not lying,” she stresses again, refusing to turn back around. “I’m not...there is no one. No one waiting.”

Glynren tries to interfere. “She’s not one for relationships.”

“That’s not…” she bites her tongue. She should have just let him defend her, but instinct made her want to correct him. She had hoped no one heard her.

Of course, that wasn’t the case. “Let the girl speak for herself,” Astarion demands in a pseudo-authoritative voice. Sephrin knew he wasn’t trying to defend her. He was teasing her, encouraging her to make a fool of herself.

He continues, gesturing dramatically as if reciting a monologue. “That’s not true, is it, darling? I can see it. Such a quiet maiden on the outside, but passion burns inside you like a raging fire, leaving broken hearts in your wake, your coquettish charm ensnaring your victims like-”

His speech is interrupted by a magnifying glass bouncing off his head. It was the first thing Sephrin could get her hands on. She stands there, frozen, her arm still extended, eyes wide. Astarion stares back at her, mouth agape, as he brings a hand to where he was hit. He then delicately picks up the magnifying glass laying beside him, the glass now cracked along one edge.

“You hit me with a magnifying glass,” he states in disbelief. “Of all the...first you smacked me with your book, and now this?”

“That wasn’t a bad throw,” Lae’zel comments.

“Hit him square on the head,” Shadowheart adds.

“I’m hurt, darling,” Astarion pouts, but his eyes give away the playful tone. “What did I do to deserve such abuse?”

Sephrin stands there, eyeing the dirt. “I’m not a whore.”

That catches him off guard. “I never said-”

“Leave it,” Glynren orders, glowering. Astarion stares him down a moment, but then sighs. He looks over at Sephrin when she chances a glance at him and holds out the magnifying glass. When she doesn’t move, her brother makes to grab it from the other elf, but Astarion quickly pulls away, giving Glynren a pointed look. Only when Glynren scowls and retreats his hand does Astarion hold it out again.

Once again, she’s center stage, all eyes on her. What an awful night this has been. She just wants it to end, and so she finally shuffles back to the fire, stopping short of Astarion. It has to be a trap. One doesn’t throw a magnifying glass at a vampire and live to tell the tale. With a furtive hand, she reaches for the glass. There’s a second when their fingers brush against each other, making her drop it in the dirt. Astarion cocks a brow at her, his eyes gleaming. Her face aflame, she snatches it up, retreats to her bedroll, and flings her blankets over her.

After yet another moment of silence, Gale pats his hands on his knees before standing up. “Well. I suppose that was enough excitement for one night.” He starts getting himself ready to turn in. Others follow in suit, starting their own nightly rituals, pointedly avoiding Sephrin’s bedroll.

“Indeed,” Astarion muses, studying the lump of blankets before standing up, making his way out of the camp. Why he stalks out into the forest is unclear. Perhaps to feed. Perhaps just to get away from the others for a bit before turning in. Either way, he stops in front of a raccoon nibbling on pieces of charred meat. For some reason, it amuses him and at the same time makes him curious. As he approaches, the raccoon scoops up as much of the meat as it can before scurrying off. Astarion picks up a piece and sniffs it. Fish.

“You _are_ a sneaky one, aren’t you?” he murmurs, tossing the meat aside, taking note that he’ll have to disarm her before their next conversation.


End file.
